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“This is your Aunt Felicity, Jack.”
Jack frowned. “Aunt Fisitee?”
A reluctant smile tugged at Felicity’s lips. “It’s a mouthful, right? How about … Liss.”
He considered that for a moment, nodded. “Okay. Hi, Aunty Liss.”
Something warm unfurled in her chest.
Twenty years.
Twenty years she’d gone without family, and in less than a minute, she’d become someone’s aunt. “Hi, Jack.”
And certainty settled deep in her bones — there was nothing she wouldn’t do to protect this child.
35
Hell
It was close to eleven that night when Felicity turned into her driveway. She was drained, emotionally and physically, and at war with herself.
Her afternoon with Rae and Jack ended soon after the boy had woken up. She’d driven away with one unshakable conviction — Vasily Liminov had to be eliminated.
Just like the others.
The rest of the day had been spent working through scenarios that, until today, had been little more than rough ideas, to ensure that happened.
None had her walking away a free woman.
Later, she’d returned to Rae’s house for the security meeting Beau had called. Until the trial, Raegan and Jack, Bella, Nate, and their kids were to have round-the-clock protection. The evening had passed in a blur of schedules, risk assessments, and protection assignments. And, of course, the hard stares from everyone present. The only highlight had been putting Bella in her place.
Her sense of satisfaction hadn’t lasted.
Beau had paired her with Ronan on the protection detail for Rae and Jack, effectively destroying her plan to put some distance between them. Unfortunately, there was no one she’d rather have beside her while protecting Rae and Jack than Ronan Murphy.
One thing had become painfully clear over the course of the day — last night had been a mistake. A dangerous loss of perspective. She had no business pulling him deeper into her life.
And what she intended to do next …
It was going to hurt him. Badly.
The thought twisted something deep inside her.
Headlights appeared in her rearview mirror. She frowned, then sighed when the man himself pulled his truck alongside hers.
The one man capable of making her question every sensible decision she’d made that day.
With a burst of frustration — and no small amount of self-recrimination — she climbed from her Bronco and stalked up the porch to the front door without acknowledging him. Even the dogs’ welcoming yaps and snorts as she entered the house failed to lift her spirits. She jabbed at the keypad and disarmed the alarm.
She should have shut the door in his face.
Instead, she left it open.
Weak. She was so fucking weak.
He closed the door behind him and turned the lock.
She dropped her forehead against the wall beside the alarm pad.
